Yes, You Git
by dhbPATHWAY1997
Summary: Spain asks America about his real feelings towards England, and that gets the Brit thinking: does he feel the same way? All it takes is some help from Canada to decide. Random fluff I thought up late at night. Please don't hate me. I'm sorry. Review! :3


"Oh, America, you poor sap."

I stopped in my tracks, my attention caught by Spain's voice, concerned and pitying, coming from the meeting room. I crept closer to the door. We'd had a World Meeting this morning, hosted this time by Japan. But the host had been dragged from the room by Italy as soon as the clock chimed noon, Germany rushing after and yelling after the ditzy boy. Soon after, everyone had cleared out, either heading out for sightseeing before their flights home or going back to their hotels. I'd carefully gathered up my notes, packing them neatly in my briefcase, and had stopped by a vending machine for a bottle of water, when I heard Spain.

"Ha, whaddya mean, man?" laughed the familiar, obnoxious voice of America.

There was a lengthy pause, and Switzerland exited the meeting room with Liechtenstein at his heels. "-and I was thinking we could have another picnic! Would that be okay, big brother?" Liechtenstein was asking.

"Yeah, sure, okay," he replied disinterestedly.

I almost wanted to scold the trigger-happy nation. _You never know what you've got until it's gone_, and that rubbish. I'd had a little brother once... But no more, and that was okay. I was still a very successful country, with or without America. But still I took an interest in the lad, and that's why I couldn't help listening in to his and Spain's conversation. After all, Spain and America hadn't had very much contact. Why were they having a private conversation? Obviously I should listen in...

"Alright, we're alone," Spain said, sounding cheerier, but still pitying. "Now. You know what I mean."

"Uh, nope! Why am I sap, or whatever? Maybe you should be talkin' to that Canada guy."

I almost rolled my eyes. "Who?" Spain asked, confused, and then I really _did_ roll my eyes.

"Eh, don't worry about it. But why am I sap?"

"I just feel sorry for you," said Spain with a little sigh, but I knew him well, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Mischevious, the smile was, but also genuinely upset.

"Why?" laughed America. "I'm doing great! Well...you know, except for the economic crap... But besides that, I'm fantastic! A real hero!"

"Um. Right," Spain agreed awkwardly. "But about England..." My eyes widened a little. Spain wanted to talk about _me_? Good Lord, if he wanted to start another war, I just might go mad.

"England? What about him?" America said, and through his usual happy-go-lucky tone, I heard something hesitant.

"Well... I mean, you like him, right?"

I felt a blush crawl up into my cheeks. A couple of fairies flew into my vision, whispering lightly about going outside, but I swatted at them a little, whispering for them to go away. What was Spain getting at? That America liked me... Pfft. And why should I care if he did?

"Well, yeah, duh." My eyes widened a _lot_, and my jaw fell open. "He's a great dude. Great friend and stuff." Oh. Well, there you have it.

I let out a breath. America was an idiot, to not realize what Spain meant, but at least he wasn't going to, I don't know, profess his undying love for me or something. That would be simply ridiculous. Heh. So why did I feel disappointed...? I was glad that I could be a friend to the country who used to be my younger brother, but was that all I was ever going to be? His ex-brother? That didn't even make much sense...

"Er... That's not what I meant, amigo."

"Huh?" America sounded genuinely confused, and I smiled a little at the expression I imagined he'd be wearing. It was...cute. "What did you mean?"

"You like England... Not like a friend, right?" Spain asked, getting somewhat exasperated.

"Um. What?" I wanted to face-palm, but I restrained myself. He wasn't really _this_ stupid!

Spain sighed, and I knew he was completely exasperated. Ha. Take _that_, Mr. I'm-so-cool-with-my-tomatoes-and-my-tan. Feel my pain. Kind of.

"America. You don't see England like you see me, do you? I'm your friend. You don't see him like you see Canada, either. He's kind of like your brother. You like England differently. Maybe you love him?" Spain was being anything but subtle now, and my face was full-on red. If America didn't understand _now_, there was no hope for him whatsoever.

"Oh...that's what you meant..." America sounded embarrassed. But he wasn't denying anything...

"Am I right, America?"

There was silence for several minutes. Then, a sigh from America, followed by a muttered, "Yeah. You are."

I believe I could have fainted. I was shocked to hear him agree with Spain. He...fancied me? I didn't feel disappointed anymore. In fact, my chest felt kind of tight, in a nice way. I felt almost happy to hear America agree.

But, no! I should be _discouraging_ those kinds of feelings! He was once my brother! _Was once_, a voice in my head echoed. _But he's not anymore_... No, no, no, no, no... _I_ didn't like _him_! I didn't! He was obnoxious, annoying, irritating, loud, culturally unaware, ignorant, off-the-wall, arrogant, awkward, loyal, fair, brave, handsome, strong, sweet, kind, funny, interesting, cute, confident, confusing...amazing...

Neither America nor Spain said anything. I suspected Spain was letting America think about things, like I needed to.

_Why_? I asked myself. How could I fancy America? He had so many enemies. He had so many faults. But there were so many good things about him. Why had I missed him when he revolted? Why had I thought about him every day without fail, whether it was just in passing, or to wonder what had gone so wrong? Why did I go out of my way to spend time with him? Why did I ally with him whenever something came up? Why was I still clinging to him, when he'd left me.

"It's because you love him," whispered someone from behind me, and I jumped.

"Bloody-!" I looked around, but there seemed to be no one there. "Who's there? And how can you read minds?" I began to feel a bit paranoid, when the voice laughed, a quiet, breathy chuckle. Then I looked harder in front of me, and I saw a boy, who looked a lot like America, standing in front of me. His hair was longer, and his eyes were different, but the resemblance was incredible.

"I'm Canada," the boy said, smiling a patient smile. "And I can't read minds, but I knew you were listening to them, and I could just tell what you were wondering. You were questioning why you could ever like someone as apparently stupid as America, but then you realized he had good qualities, too. And you wondered why you seemed to cling to America even after he left you."

"You're scary," I decided. "You have dealings with Russia, don't you?"

Canada laughed again. "I do, actually. And I won't take that as an insult. But, do you want my advice?"

"Er...sure."

"Tell him. You won't get anywhere pining after the little colony you used to have. You need to face the fact that America is a big, grown-up country now. He can look after himself. But he has feelings, too, England. And don't you think _everyone_ has good and bad qualities? Spain could be wondering right now how America could love a persnickety, bookish, hot-tempered country such as yourself-"

"Hey!"

"-but America could tell him that it's because you're also imaginitive and in-control and confident. You see?" He smiled expectantly.

"I believe I do..." I told Canada, considering.

"Good. Now's your chance. I'll be off now. Bye, England!" The lad waved, backing away. "_Bonne chance_!"

OH! Right! Canada! He'd once been my colony, too, but he was greatly influenced by the frog! I recalled him perfectly now!

"Thank you!" I called back to him, waving, too.

"England? Whatcha doin'? Talking to your unicorns again?" America's voice startled me, and I turned to face him. He was blushing, and I felt my own face grow hot again, as well.

"They exist..." I protested feebly. "But no, I was talking to..." Who had I been talking to again? He looked like America... "He looked like you...but I can't recall his name...hmm..."

"I thought you left a while ago. Why aren't you back at the hotel? Or with France?"

"Oh, come now. Why would you expect me to go off somewhere with France?" I asked, a bit irritated, as America began to walk and I followed.

"Well..." America looked away, a little awkwardly. "You guys are _friends_..." He put an emphasis on the word 'friends' that surprised me. "So I figured you'd want to be with him..."

"Ew. No," I shook my head. "No, I'll be headed back to the hotel now for some tea and then I'll leave for London in the morning."

"You're going so soon?" America asked, sounding significantly disappointed.

"Well, yes. I'd like to get home and away from the more annoying of our kind..."

America stopped walking. I turned around, surprised. "What?" I asked. He hung his head a little.

"You're including me in that, right?" he asked, his usual loud volume gone, replaced by a vulnerable accusation.

"Oh." I paused. "Actually, America, this time, I wasn't," I said, a smile forming on my face.

He looked up at me. "'This time'?" He echoed. "But every other time, you count me as one of the annoying countries, just there to irritate you?" America sounded angry now. No, it was more than anger. I'd heard this before from him, at a much younger age. He was hurt.

"What? America, no. I didn't mean it like that, you prat."

"And now I'm a prat. Great." He started walking again, faster, passing me up as I stood stunned.

"America! No! Wait!" I swore under my breath as I jogged to keep up with the taller nation, taking hold of his arm and stopping him again. "That's not what I meant. It was a joke. What's the matter with you? Whenever I say things like that, they're always water off a duck's back! What's going on?"

I knew that he was a horribly cheesy romantic. I knew that he could talk about his feelings easily, he always had. Had talking to Spain about his feelings for me upset him that badly?

He sighed angrily, not looking me in the eyes, and I caught the glint off of his glasses. "It doesn't matter, okay? It's nothing. I'll get over it."

That stung, a bit. It...meaning _me_? So, he would just get over me eventually? Anger took the place of potential awkwardness and hurt.

"I don't matter? I'm nothing? You'll just get over me?" I spat, letting go of his arm, but he didn't move.

He looked at me confusedly. "What?"

"That's what you're upset about, isn't it? Me? I don't know why the hell you're so angry, or bitter, or sensitive right now, but you don't need to be."

America looked away again, but he looked startled and embarrassed. "How did you know?"

"A little bird told me," I said wryly. "Now come on. Tell me how it is, America. Where do we stand now?"

He turned back to me, one eyebrow raised. "'Where do we stand now?' England, you make it sound like we're discussing battle plans."

"We might be," I said dangerously.

America's eyebrow raised higher. "Okay...fine." He sighed again. "This is going to sound really stupid, okay? I don't blame you if you walk away from me, laughing, but I really hope that...well, I really hope that you don't." I nodded for him to continue. "Look, England... I like you. And not in like a comerades-in-arms or brotherly kind of way. In the kind of way that I might...actually...love you," he finished in a whisper.

I'd seen it coming, but I felt myself staring at him wide-eyed all the same. My face, I knew, was pinkish, if not red, and his was too, though he didn't look at me. I stayed silent for a moment, considering the snappy ways to say that I reciprocated his love, but eventually, as America was starting to look upset by my silence, I muttered, "The feeling is mutual, you git."

America looked seriously confused for a second, and I wanted to hit him in the back of the head, but I resisted, and leaned up to kiss him instead, knowing that _that_ couldn't be taken in any other direction than the one I wanted. America seemed stunned for a minute, and he stayed stock-still against my lips, but when I finally got bold enough to wrap my arms around his neck, he pressed back a little, hesitantly at first, and then more enthusiastically. He put his own arms around my waist and brought me a little closer, and I felt him breathe out, almost in relief.

We were interrupted by a laugh and we jumped apart to see Spain chuckling to himself, covering his mouth and trying poorly to hide his amusement.

"And what the hell do you think is so hilarious?" I yelled, madly embarrassed and slightly disappointed.

Spain laughed louder again, then finally managed, "Finally! Ha!"

"Finally?" I yelled louder.

"Yeah, dude, everyone knows you've got a thing for Italy's bro. You better get a move on before one of those pretty little Italian girls does."

Spain instantly sobered up. "You - No - Don't you-" he sputtered.

America and I laughed. Spain turned and walked away, his tanned face bright red, and his posture edgy and awkward. Once we'd quieted, America took my hand and laced our fingers. "So... You love me?"

"Hmm?" I asked, distracted by the way his eyes looked after he'd been laughing.

"Well, you never actually said it. You just said my feelings were mutual," America pointed out, blushing again.

"Must I say it?" I grumbled.

"Yeah," America grinned.

I looked down at my shoes. "All right. Fine. I love you. There. I've said it. Now-" I was interrupted by America tilting my face upwards and then kissing me softly, just for a second, then he leaned back to just look at me for a minute.

"So we're a couple?" he asked, grinning widely with pink on his cheeks.

I rolled my eyes, but smiled at his unique brand of ignorance and innocence. "Yes, you git."


End file.
